


Even Heroes (Get the Blues)

by messitallup



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, M/M, Maybe mild depression?, Pretty sure no triggers, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1226776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messitallup/pseuds/messitallup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It shouldn't have ended like this.</p><p>There is one song Frank will never, ever consider playing again, one person he will never trust. Only one thing he can think.<br/>It definitely shouldn't have ended like this.<br/>(3rd person pov)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Heroes (Get the Blues)

**Author's Note:**

> I heard Fake Your Death and made my think of this. Lots of sadness. Some of it was harder to write and I'm not sure about how t came out, but here you go.  
> Title's from Fake Your Death.  
> I've read it over once and I'm sure there aren't any glaring errors, but lemme know if there are. Thanks :)  
> I'm not amazingly happy with the ending, so if you want, stop reading when you reach the *** that was the end. The rest is kinda a coda i guess.  
> I hope you guys enjoy.

  
It hadn't gotten any easier.  
It was still a shock when he woke up in his room alone, when he walked down the street without a hand to hold onto. But the thing that upset him the most was coming home to an empty flat; cold and unwelcoming, the rooms dark from where Frank had kept them off in the morning, heaters silent, radio dead quiet.

Frank had let himself go, and he wasn't sure he could get himself back this time. Most importantly he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Frank thought he had read the situation right, for once in his life. He thought he had done the right thing. Now he knew he was wrong.

Requesting a divorce had been simultaneously one of the more stupid and also smartest things he had done, could have done in the circumstances.  
He had time for his music, Death Spells, and solo career, he didn't have the strain of his breaking marriage, Jamia and he were still friends, he could see the kids whenever he wanted being on account that had only moved down the street.  
More importantly he could walk round shitty house in his birthday suite without worrying he'dunintentionally scarred the kids.

The downside was he was lonely. More lonely than he had thought it possible to be.  
He'd done all this for one person and that person had rejected him. Again.

Frank had prepared for that scenario, sure, he was a realist, he didn't believe in ignoring just how badly things could go wrong, because that way when they did go shittly, it hurt less than it would have.

He sighed and turned off the TV, trying his best to ignore the rip opening in his chest, growing in size everyday. He got up and stretched, his back and neck clicking and he winced at how the sound echoed round and round the silent room. Now the TV had been turned off, the house was deadly silent. When he had been with Jamia he had never really understood what deadly silent had meant. There was always some noise, Miles waking up, Cherry and Lily stealthily reading to one another in the middle of the night, his guitar playing, Jamia cooking, a Misfits record playing out. Now he understood.

Frank was engulfed day to day in a silence that would drive a person and, chilling him to the bones. The pause before the scream. He was going to scream. Eventually. Eventually he would crack. He knew that now. Without Jamia or Gerard or the band to keep him on the straight and narrow, it was only a matter of time. Maybe years, maybe days.

Hell, maybe even seconds.

He could feel the rip in the very fabric of his being growing, slowly increasing in size, destroying the material of what made him who he was.

He shuffled his way through his empty house, despondently, feeling three time his age, his muscles protesting, stomach groaning. When was the last time he had eaten? He didn't know, or particularly care. What was the point? Humans ate in effort to do things, to keep their bodies physically stable, to reward themselves after hard days of work. Why would he bother eating when he was s mentally stable as an institutionalised patient and hadn't done anything rewarding or productive in days.

He sat down on his bed, and picked up he guitar,wiping away the dust and grime from the body. He took his time, oiling the tuning pegs, after restraining her, cleaning her off and tuning her perfectly, but when it came to playing, he found he couldn't think of anything to pla except the one thing he swore he never would again though he found his hands absent-mindedly tracing the chords on her strings almost lovingly.

He buried his face in the back of the guitar, as he failed in stopping tears rolling down his cheeks. He had gambled everything on one man, one chance, and lost.

Frank liked to think, somewhere in another universe, another time, he was happy, Gerard hadn't shut the door on his face and hadn't shit all over his hopes. That was, he thought desperately, enough for him. For now.

Frank let the tears roll down his cheeks, sobs escaping from his cage of a chest, cries of help from his dying heart.

Three months later it was a cold March, there was no doubt about it, if his heart had been dying then, it was dead and well on the way to being buried now.

He had barely seen his kids, though he thought that was for the best considering the state he was in and his social life... Well, what social life? The only interaction he'd had was from Twitter, and he wasn't exactly sure answering questions or evading them from people he had no idea existed until the moment that little notification pinged to life in his box was counted as a normal social life.

Three cold months of sitting in his house listening to a symphony of quiet and writing angry msic that he couldn't bare to look at let alone play afterwards.

Death Spells had collapsed, not even signing for a tour. My Chem were coming up to their one year aniversary of the break and the fans wouldn't let him forget that. Fake Your Death, the song he swore he would never, ever play again was a massive hit and Mikey had a new band. Ray also seemed happy, having a new solo album coming out soon along with Gerard's and Ray was glad to spend as much time with his growing family as possible. Frank heard feet crunching up the gravel in the drive, what seemed like a pounding noise but was in reality nearly noiseless.

A knock sounded at the door. He didn't answer.

Another knock bounced its way into his ear and bounded off his eardrums.

"Jamia look, I'm sorry, I don't want to talk right now," Frank managed, his vocal chords protested at the use after months of rest, "Please just leave me alone."

The knocking continued. The first time Jamia had come to check up on him, about two months a half ago, he had nearly fooled himself into thinking it could be Gerard. Of course it wasn't.

"I said I didn't want to-" He cut off as he opened the door. It wasn't Jamia. It wasn't Gerard either. It was the post boy.

"I'm sorry sir, it's just, you haven't retrieved your post for weeks. And there bills and shit- stuff, even, in there." The boy paused for breath, "I'm sorry sir."

Frank smiled weakly and thanks the boy, but just before he shut the door he saw a flash of black and red and heard another set of footfalls in the gravel. The boy gasped.

"Frank wait please!" Came the cry. Gerard looked worse than Frank had ever seen him. Worse than when him and Elisa had broken up, worse than when Bert had picketed their concerts saying the worst crap about them possible. "Please, don't-don't go."  
"What?" Frank snarled the like broken, injured animal he was, "don't leave like I begged you not to before you fucked me over, Gerard?"  
"Please, I'm so sorry," Frank could see Gerardd been crying recently, eyes red and puffy, they kind of rinded him of the drawings Gerard made of Korse, pale, too thin and red rings around his eyes like an anemic, "I'm so so sorry, please." Frank collapsed into Gerard's arms as they reached out for him. The anger and hurt evaporating slowly but surely as he breathed in that unclean, smoky Gerard smell. Home.

"Why?" The sound came out muffled from where Frank's face was smushed into Gerard's shoulder. It was barely recognisable as speech by Frank do he doubted Gerard had understood.  
"I'm so sorry, I was scared. The band was coming to a close and Mikey had split with Alicia, everything seemed so messed up. I didn't even stop to think about the impact everything and anything I did would have on you. I was selfish and scared and that doesn't excuse anything. I never wanted you to be hurt. I never meant for it to end like this."

And they embraced, like they were each other's only life line. Because in a way, they were.

***

Miles and Bandit chased Lily and Cherry down the stairs past Frank's office. Past Gerard making their lunch in the kitchen, because even though he couldn't cook, he was sure that Frank cooking would actually either kill them or burn the house down. Or maybe both.

Frank sat on his desk, in his office, well, their office. Comic books posters lay strewn across the walls, drawings scattered without further thought, music sheets and lyrics practically created a new carpet. It was a creative mess, organised chaos. Frank loved it.

The contrast from before had never been more profound to him than now.   
The straining tune he was playing developed into something more complex, lilting, opening like a flower under his hand. This was the way it was always meant to be. If Frank had any say in it, this was the way it would stay, it would continue./p>

From outside the house a faint song could be heard as Gerard joined in singing, a once sad song, built in their darkest moment turned into a beautiful ballad. There was no shame in defeat as long as you did not rest in your misfortune long.   
"And we were born to lose."

Frank smiled.


End file.
